Friday, February 09, 2007

The Bro Factory
I work in a tall building in a part of town that's known for its reputable law firms (don't get the wrong idea -- I have nothing to do with reputable). Across the hall from our suite is another suite that, in the past few months, has begun delivering bros from its doors. Some of them flew off the pages of Details Magazine, some are distinguished by their ill-fitting suits. But all of them are slightly different versions of the same model. Like Ford's early days, their output is astonishing. Every day a new one appears. Today's Bro dyed half his hair Fire Red, the other half Jet Black, and stood in the hall talking loudly on his cell phone. All of the current models have phone calls in the lobby.

Some of the Bros' features include: a lumber, a swagger, a hunger on their face for 'tang, shock and disbelief over how wasted they got last night.

I get the sense that, underneath their swagger, they're lost in in this building, especially the ones whose suit jackets are 4 sizes too big. But not the one who gels his hair back. He knows exactly what he's doing.

Frequently, they flood the Men's room.

All the girls they hire are Terry Hatcher skinny.

Once, after Christmas, they left a trail of needles leading to a small pine tree in the lobby. And why not? We have janitors for a reason.

I asked a few of the Bros what they do over there, and all they said was something like "brokerage stuff." Why don't they just say Telemarketing?

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Well it's official: he's not gay.

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